Page 63 of Lela's Choice

“You haven’t developed a tough enough skin if those insults upset you.”

“I needed to leave before I committed violence.” She sighed loudly. “And that’s more of the Vella melodrama.”

“Which bit pisses you off most? That she considered you were on the side of the devil, her suggestion you had no life without her, or her expectation you’d fix things with your father?” he asked conversationally.

“All of them.” None of her friends discussed raising adolescents with Lela. Her fault, skating over difficult conversations because they seemed disloyal or, in the early days, because her friends were interested in clothes and dating. Recently they were juggling work, marriage and babies. Being able to talk to Hamish, knowing he’d keep her secrets was an unanticipated gift.

“You counselled caution. Her grandfather treated her like a piece of property. Not much difference really.” He threw the provocative comment into the stuffy interior of the car.

“Now you’re pissing me off.”

“You should say that to your father or Sophie,” he said with quiet satisfaction.

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“A hunch. You have a marshmallow-soft centre you hide from most people, which your family exploits.” His compliments were equal parts acerbic and precious.

“I wouldn’t survive a day working with disengaged young people if I was a pushover.”

“I didn’t say you were a pushover. Loyal and loving to your family. Giving away most of your income is generous and reveals a passion for making a difference.”

“You haven’t seen me going without. Look at me.” She spread her hands. Colleagues and friends were more likely to challenge than congratulate her. “I don’t want for anything.”

“I am looking at you. Except now I’m seeing you.” His growling reply ricocheted through her body.

Her stomach did a long, slow somersault, dropping her off the edge of a cliff. Lela fell through endless space. Her nerves skittered, and her heart simply stopped beating. Still, she drowned in the endless green of his eyes. She admired his integrity, respected his decency, and had fallen for him spider watch by outrageous tie by travelling companion degrees. His compliment cracked open the final barrier protecting her heart, narrowing her focus to the man sitting next to her. The storm isolated them from the world.

“Get a grip,” she murmured.

He laughed, leaning forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll wait for somewhere more comfortable.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she stammered.

“I did.” He scanned the road ahead. “We might have enough visibility to get to Mgarr now. Let’s see if we can catch that ferry.”

Lela followed his gaze. The torrential downpour had lessened, the wicked wind that ripped at the car had dropped, and the road ahead was clear. She’d been oblivious to everything except him. Trapped by her own imagination, where Hamish played both maverick and magician. He was prepared to bend the rules if they interfered with a just outcome, and to her continuing astonishment he was able to make her forget everything except the light in his eyes, the wry twist to his lips, and the fresh, male scent of him. He offered safe harbour and sin in equal measure.

While he concentrated on the road ahead, her mind continued to wander. She imagined tracing her fingers over his face, intimately learning the contours of his forehead, cheeks and jaw.

Not enough.

Lela wanted to learn the contours of his body—broad shoulders, lean flanks, slim hips, and more. Having had her hands on him, she knew his skin was firm to the touch, lightly-haired, warm. Pressure built inside her to reach out, to help herself to what she craved—with her fingertips, with open palms, with her body sliding against his. The urge to stroke, to permanently imprint his long, muscled lines on her memory was overpowering. Naked, she needed to be naked to slide over him.

I want to rip your clothes off.

The boldness of her fantasy inflamed her.

Touch wouldn’t be enough. All her senses sharpened. Taste, she wanted to savour the sensation of having her lips on him, her tongue, her mouth, of inhaling the erotic flavour of him as she aroused him. Surrendering to her imagination energised her. Only by gripping her hands together in her lap, and keeping her gaze firmly fixed straight ahead, could she stop herself from making that first move—in a moving car, in a storm! Her famed self-control was deserting her. Heat pooled between her thighs and wonder and eagerness merged.

She wanted to make love to Hamish. Not because his kisses tasted of heaven, although they did. Not because he made her feel desirable, although when those clever hands traced her curves, she felt sexy, weak and wanton. But because she loved the honourable, understanding, luscious whole of him.

I’ve fallen for Hamish Beauregard MacGregor.

“Damn!” His expletive cut through her reverie, flicking her like a whip.

Her head snapped around to face him. Caught in the shocking discovery she was in love with him, she feared she’d spoken her thought aloud. “What’s wrong?”

“Based on this traffic backup, it looks like they’ve cancelled at least one ferry.”

---